


Duty and Devotion

by Arlome



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Jane Austen AU, MFMM Flashfic Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlome/pseuds/Arlome
Summary: "The air in the Assembly Rooms is rife with the scent of stale sweat and weak rose water."
Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 62
Collections: Miss Fisher's Flashfic Challenge Heat 2





	Duty and Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> My prompt was "Jane Austen AU" + violin, sleep, window.
> 
> Naturally, I couldn't refuse.
> 
> I wish I could live like a literate woman, but, alas, this time I die like an illiterate man.

The air in the Assembly Rooms is rife with the scent of stale sweat and weak rose water. Captain John ‘Jack’ Robinson brings a perfume-soaked handkerchief to his nose in a valiant attempt at decorum and good manners. After all, it will not do to show his disdain at the poor hygiene exercised by the people of Bath.

A frantically waved fan nearly hits him in the face when he tries to make his way to the refreshment table and only his swift reflexes save him from a face-full of lace. The press of bodies around him grows denser and smellier, and he finds himself casting a rather suffering glance at the elaborately carved ceiling above.

He’d never have come if it weren’t for his easily led nature. He’d rather have stayed at his lodgings with a fine book or went to the theatre – activities much more suitable for his humble palette – but, alas; his plans, as is his heart, seem not his own these days.

She is here, and he will sacrifice a great deal more than evening plans for just one dance with her in his arms.

The cry of the violin rises in pitch, announcing a new dance and Captain Robinson collects a glass of brandy from the laden table. Bringing the beverage to his lips, he turns to appraise the dancing crowd. He can see a flock of young maidens and their jaded chaperones sitting at the far end of the ballroom, no doubt anxiously awaiting the attention of some highly eligible gentlemen. A few of the young ladies hide behind their fans and giggle in his direction. He lowers his eyes to the brandy; it will not do to encourage any of them, not when he’s –

“Captain Robinson!” comes an energetic boom to his left, nearly making him drop his brandy. With a swift schooling of his features, he places the glass on the table and turns to the source of the battle cry.

“Mrs Stanley, “he acknowledges amicably, bowing over her outstretched, pudgy hand.

The old, portly lady seems pleased with his manners, her wig shaking slightly with her satisfied nod.

“Captain, may I introduce my niece, the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher?” she asks rhetorically. Jack’s breath catches in his throat. “Phryne, my dear; this here is Captain John Robinson, of the Navy.”

She’s here, and he can hardly breathe.

“Delighted,” her eyes are shining with enough mischief to bring this entire assembly down.

“Miss Fisher,” he replies when he can find his voice again and bends to kiss her hand. He tries not to have hope when her fingers tremble beneath his lips.

“May I have this dance, Miss Fisher?”

She smiles at him, and his belly aches at the fine figure she cuts in her blue muslin dress. She’s a vision, the muse of poets and artists; her beauty – and fortune – the talk of this bustling town. No doubt, she has many suiters. And yet…

“I would be delighted, Captain.”

Once on the floor they can barely speak. A brush of his hand here, a touch of her fingers there; it is a heady feeling to finally touch her after days of starvation. They briefly change partners during the gavotte, but it’s enough to set his heart pounding when he stands beside her again. To be this close to her, to smell the scent of her clean sweat and rich perfume – he cannot tell if this is heaven or perdition. When the dance ends, she takes his offered hand and leads him to the gardens.

They pass a few of the giggling maidens on their way to the double French windows; one of the chaperones is asleep in her seat, snoring softly, oblivious to the rather inappropriate conversation her charge is striking with one of the young Red Coats. Miss Fisher laughs softly.

“Do you remember being this young?” she asks, smiling up at him, and he shakes his head.

“I’ve spent my adolescence scrubbing decks, Miss Fisher; I’m hardly the authority on unsuitable dalliances.”

She gives him a knowing look and pulls him into a dark alcove.

“I rather think you have some experience in the field, Captain.”

He takes her in his arms and kisses her. She throws her arms around his neck and shudders with a soft sigh.

“Jack!” she cries against his mouth, pressing closer. He can’t help but worry that his epaulettes are chafing the soft skin of her pale arms. “Oh, Jack!”

“Phryne,” he groans, his hands anchoring at her ribs. “You drive the sleep from my eyes. Do you even know – “

“Yes!” she cries, pressing kisses to his cheeks, his, nose, the line of his jaw. “Oh, I was sick with longing.”

Jack smiles under the attack of her eager mouth.

“Phryne Fisher yearning for a man?” he can’t help but tease her. “What is the world coming to?”

“Ruin, no doubt. I blame you, Captain Robinson.”

“Then I shall plead guilty with ardour and little regret.”

She steps away from him, reaches for his hands. The press of her fingers warms his heart.

“How long do we have this time?”

Her voice is shaking. He hates to cause her worry.

“I sail in three days. There’s news from Elba.”

Phryne brings his hand to her lips. Her mouth is moist against his knuckles.

“Then we shall make the most of it.”

He’s selfish, he knows. His greed for her company, her heart – it’s vast and consuming. He should release her from this dance they lead; it would be the noble thing to do.

“Phryne –“

“You keep your silly notions of chivalry to yourself, Jack Robinson,” she mutters sternly. “This is my choice. I’m afraid you shall have to relinquish the dream of having a wife in every port.”

By God, how he loves this woman.

“How ever will I manage,” he offers dryly.

She throws herself into his embrace once more, the heat of her body seeping through his uniform and engulfing him whole.

“It seems as if you will have to make do with me,” she sighs playfully.

He pulls her ever closer to him, his lips pressed to her ear.

“Seems as if we will have to make do with each other.”


End file.
